


Camping Fun

by Sadsnail



Series: Dumbledore Insert [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe, Camping, Family Fluff, Gen, Maybe Monsters :), Maybe not because we already had Chucky and there should be limits., dad severus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:14:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23912137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sadsnail/pseuds/Sadsnail
Summary: Inserted into Dumbledore and de-aged to a four-year-old child, SI decides to fix it all. Snape is there, playing hapless father to the little eager beaver.— De-aged Albus and his dad goes camping. It goes exactly like all his other adventures.
Series: Dumbledore Insert [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1579501
Comments: 33
Kudos: 39





	1. Little Red Riding Hood

We spent the day before our long-awaited camping trip packing two brand new backpacks. Mine was kid-sized and had animated little snakes slithering all over, just the thing for a future Slytherin. The bag was amazing. It swallowed my fishing rod Mary Poppins-style, and I wasted no time in checking what else I could stuff in. By the time Dad came to see how far along I was I had nearly half my room packed.

"Why are you packing that, Albus?" Bat Dad asked in his most neutral tone, which was quite a feat as I was currently standing on the bare bed frame, struggling to stuff my mattress, bedding and all, into the backpack; a sweaty, but exciting job. So far the bag had gobbled all my offerings, no matter the size, it needed just the tiniest part of the item pushed inside to jump into action. Magic!

"Because I can?"

"Put it back."

"Aww, just after it ate this one!"

"No."

"What harm can it—"

"Put it back, Albus."

I complied with bad grace.

This time he stayed to supervise and we ended up having mini squabbles on what to pack and not to. I favoured games and loads of snacks, envisioning evenings spent playing exploding snap next to a fire, munching on chocolate treats under a sky full of stars. Dad, in turn, championed bracing walks, One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, written by the Herbologist and Hogwarts Headmistress Phyllida Spore, with specimen jars and butterfly nets, even going as far as using the most dreaded two words: educational experience.

* * *

"You're too old for a tantrum," he said as he stood over me where I lay starfished on my bedroom floor refusing to move. I had hidden the book under my butt, and he could easily Accio it but he didn't play that way.

"Am not. Charlotte is eight and she still throws them, I'm not yet seven." In my agitation, the tooth gap whistled on every 'es' and I boiled over. "No learning! No books!"

"No books, no camping."

Oh. Going directly for the kill, not even haggling! What happened to counter offers and compromises! That was so unfair!

"I'll be having tea with Poppy," he continued, not giving me a chance to complain. "Come find me when you are done here," he said and did an about-turn, his robe sweeping theatrically in his wake, leaving me all alone.

Wait. Did that mean the trip was off? Damn the bat for not being more clear! Outside the floo flared, announcing his exit.

Unlike him I had to walk to Poppy's rooms, the Floo warded against me as I was too young to travel it still. I dragged my feet. Fearing the worst, I gave him enough time to have two cups of tea, hoping Poppy had thrown something calming into the pot, before I slunk into her rooms.

I adored Poppy's apartment. She lived opposite the Infirmary in the coziest rooms I had ever seen. Warm rugs and pot plants crowded every floor space, the walls were filled to the brim with her own watercolour art, she believed in pillow strewn sofas you could drown in, and trinkets from her travels decorated every surface.

"Have some tea, Albus?" asked Poppy kindly, already pouring a cup. They had a tray of dainty little sandwiches between them, not a cookie in sight.

I skulked over to Severus and hung myself around his neck. "I'm sorry."

"For?"

"The tantrum." I sighed. "I packed the book."

"Apology accepted. Have some tea."

"Okay." I released him and settled on the sofa next to Poppy who was fast turning into my second Grandmother, snuggling into her side. "I also packed The Monster Book of Monsters, we can go monster hunting when we are bored looking at toadstools." There. That will be punishment enough. I loved that book but it never stayed open for me so someone else needed to read it and it always managed to chew at least once on Bat Dad's fingers. "Is it going to be a full moon? Maybe we can catch a werewolf!"

* * *

"You're too old for tantrums," he repeated on the walk back to our rooms. "I thought we were done with those."

"Do we have to call it that? I prefer to think of it as an intense protest against a highly autocratic regime. A one kid sit-in if you want. I didn't have time to make a picket sign."

"Funny. We are not a government and its people, we are a family, and as such a calm and level-headed discussion will suffice."

I scuffed my feet against the floor in the time-old way of unhappy kids. "So you say, Dad. You also say no."

"As is my right as your parent."

"Every time?"

"I beg your—"

"It's true! These days you say no for everything, and if I try to discuss it you say I shouldn't nag."

"That is not true. Examples?"

"I don't know? Everything! I didn't know I was supposed to keep track!"

We walked on in quiet. I scuffed my shoes some more, waiting for him to tell me not to, but he didn't. Instead, he said: "I'll do my best to be more attentive to your needs."

"Good." The floor got a good kick. "You should."

"And you will…?" he prompted.

"I'll keep throwing tantrums until your parenting has improved."

"I believe what you meant to say was, I'll tell you when I am unhappy, Dad, instead of throwing a tantrum."

"Maybe…"

* * *

We didn't have to wake early. There was no need to rise before the sun, to drive for hours to a campsite, rushing to set the tent up before nightfall, for we had a Portkey to the site, bought at the travel agents. I did try to encourage Dad to borrow Arthur Weasley's car to gain the full experience but he had not fallen for the idea.

This wasn't my first camping trip, I had gone on scouting trips as a kid in my world where a couple of hundred of scouts and teachers pitched up tents and then lined up for milky cocoa, did character-building exercises and marched everywhere. This was my first family camping trip, though, and Severus had admitted to only having gone on day trips for potion ingredients himself. That meant it would be a first for both of us and my excitement could not be contained.

As such I woke before the sun and dressed in my new wellies, exchanged my pajamas for shorts and t-shirt—no robes for camping!—and pestered Dad until he opened his eyes. There was only so long he could tolerate me jumping on his bed before he woke completely and stuck me to the ceiling, a fun punishment, and I grinned down at him from my new vantage point.

"Let's go, Dad! I'm ready!"

"I thought we'd have breakfast first—"

"We can eat there. Eggs on the fire!"

"Have you—"

"Washed my face, brushed my teeth, combed my hair, and put clean socks? Yes, I have—I'm ready!"

He yawned and his eyes drooped. "There's no need to move this early—"

"Dad! All I hear is no!"

Bat Dad started to frown but aborted the movement and scrubbed his hands over his face. "Give me five minutes to wash up."

"Two!"

"Don't push your luck."

We left in ten. I timed him, but silently for I was awash with good intentions today, shadowing him with an eye on the clock. Our portkey was a compass, fitting for the occasion, and Dad had a good grip on my arm while the world swirled around us. There was no more need to carry me when travelling through magical means but I was young enough to still need a supportive hand.

We landed in a green meadow, rabbits scattering in surprise at our sudden entrance. I turned around in awe. The sun barely peeked behind the trees, and everything was lit with a soft glow. A small stream crossed the bottom of the field and off to the side a deer stood momentarily transfixed, staring at us in shock before bouncing off in a great leap. "This is it?"

"Yes."

"Where are we?" I turned a second slow circle.

"Worthing."

"Okay." It meant nothing to me. Something I was not going to tell him or soon I'd have another subject added to my studies. To the side was an unlit fire pit and seating logs and I dropped my backpack to go see. "Can we make breakfast?"

"Let's put up the tent first."

"Okay." I hopped back over to him to help. "Are we the only people here?"

"Well—"

"Where will we put the tent? Next to the stream is nice then we can just jump into the water when we wake up."

"And if it rained we would float down the river in our sleep," Dad said unimpressed and handed me a pamphlet. "We will put the tent on high ground, why don't you find it for us."

"How?"

I turned another circle but the meadow seemed quite flat.

"The clue is in your hands."

The pamphlet. I refrained nicely from rolling my eyes at him. This was going to be a great trip, I came fully prepared to be well behaved and make the best memories and rolling my eyes wasn't part of it. The colourful pamphlet was from the Travel agent. A deer frolicked on the front—looking very much like the one we had startled—and a fox peeked curiously from behind a tree but hid again as soon as he saw me. Welcome to Fox Meadows campgrounds followed by a list of rules, suggested activities, and directions on how to set up your camp. X marked the best spot for the tent and the back page had a large red emergency contact button that popped out if you waved your wand at it. Oh, no. "Dad! I forgot my wand at home!"

"You don't need it here," he said unbothered and pulled the tent out of his pack; a bright blue canvas monstrosity that should never have been able to fit in the backpack. It felt odd watching him do magic in the open and I couldn't help but look around for Muggles. But all was deathly quiet and it felt like we were the only people in the world.

"Have you found the best place for the tent yet?" Dad asked.

"I still like it next to the stream."

"You would." He came to take the pamphlet back, turned it over, and waved his wand at our new home. With a clatter fit to wake the dead, it started unfolding until it popped up into a modern two-man Muggle tent and it flew to a grassy spot farther on where it settled with a smug air. Far from the stream.

Well… okay? I suppose if you were wizards there was no need to struggle with poles and pinched fingers, or pitching tents upside down because someone ignored the manual… Still, magic was great.

"Let's unpack," Dad said and picked up his bag.

"Then eggs on the fire!" I called after and rushed to get my own. "Or marshmallows!"

I slipped through the tent flap behind him and into a house. Just call me an idiot. An idiot who expected to unpack two sleeping bags, maybe set up a cot each, put our backpacks at the foot, and call it done. What met me instead was a living room where a big blue couch pointed at a telly, next to it was a fireplace so large it could only be a Floo-system, and off to the side a fully equipped kitchen gleamed invitingly.

"Find your room," Dad said, pointing to two doors. "You should have your own bathroom, wash up before breakfast."

"I washed ten minutes ago." I didn't have time to get dirty yet, did I? I only held a pamphlet. Why did we even bother leaving the house? This was the same as our apartment at the school, heck it even had a hatstand! Who needed a hatstand when they went camping!? Could we even call it camping? We went housing? Okay fine, that did not make sense. "We don't even own a hat."

"Did you say something?"

_"We don't have hats."_

"Do you want a hat?" He set his backpack down against the couch. "You're right, you'll probably need one if you're going to be gallivanting in the woods, I'll transfigure one for you later."

I gave up. I dragged my backpack across to the bedrooms, chose the one that had the single bed, and fell face-first onto the soft mattress to scream my frustration into the pillows. How could I have forgotten about wizarding tents!

Fine. It was going to be fine. There was a fire pit outside, for sure we would use it at some point, and a stream to fish in, so what if we were going to sleep in comfort? I definitely saw him pack marshmallows. With this little pep-talk done, I managed to put a good face on before going out to join him where he was cooking our breakfast. In the kitchen. It will be fine. I sat down on the kitchen chair and the doorbell rang.

"Get that, Albus," Dad said as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

I had no need to move a finger though, as our door-flap opened and our visitors announced themselves. For that was what family did. They entered your house as if it was their own and ruined your holidays… Well, they ruined your already ruined holidays.

"Severus, you finally made it," his cousin, Alain Prince said, holding the door open for his wife and daughter.

"The sun is barely up," Dad answered. Dad who did not look at all surprised to see them. "I don't believe you've been waiting long."

"We came last night. Hello, Albus." Uncle Alain messed my hair in passing. "Excited?"

"We brought breakfast, hello little Albus," Aunt Louisette said before I could answer and bent down to kiss my cheek, moving over to do the same to Dad.

On her heels followed her daughter holding a wicker basket filled to the brim, a checkered cloth covering their offerings. There would be homemade pastries with butter and jams and fresh fruits to finish it off. Aunt Louisette's food was delicious but none of that mattered, for holding the basket, dressed in shorts and wellies, the camping ensemble topped off with a ridiculously bright red hoodie, was none other than dear Charlotte.


	2. Witch Trials

I saw my whole camping trip going up in flames. And here I thought Dad couldn't top the house-tent. First chance I got I was going to feed her to the wolves, she already looked the part with her red hoodie, she might as well be asking for it. Okay maybe not wolves, I never told him I knew about the 'prank' Sirius Black had played on him with Lupin but he can't have forgotten it. I didn't want to be that kid.

In all this time I had not been really angry at my surrogate father before. Irritated and verging on pissed, yes, sure. Furious? No. I had never been tested like today and I was hard-pressed to keep my cool during this torture session that they called breakfast. Everyone chatted as if they were long lost friends, my most hated enemy basking in the adult attention, while I sat brewing up a storm.

As soon as I could be decently excused I escaped to my room but had barely flung myself face down on my bed when Dad entered. I jumped up again.

"Why is she here?!"

"Alain and Louisette thought it would be a good idea if the two of you spent some time together, their campsite is next to ours," Dad said, sitting down next to me. "I agreed."

"You what? When? And why wasn't I told? Because you knew I wouldn't like it! This was supposed to be a family camping trip!"

"It is still a family trip, Albus. Now just with more family."

"Do you know how much this is going to cost me?" We were supposed to camp for two weeks. The going rate was a galleon a day, although we visited them a long weekend once and I managed to get her down to a two galleon seven sickle package at that time.

"No one is paying anyone to stay away from them," Dad said in his best 'your potion is about to blow up' voice. "Charlotte is here to have fun with her cousin."

"I want to go home."

"Try not to be a brat."

Oh, that's unfair. "I'll remind you I am older than you," I said and flopped back on my bed. "Have some respect."

"I haven't heard that one in a while," Bat Dad said and scrubbed my hair into a mess. "Just enjoy it, I would not moan so much if I was in your shoes, you're a child, no one expects anything from you."

"Oh my God, Dad, it shows what you know! Albus do this, Albus do that!" Okay I was exaggerating but I was on a roll. "If I was in your shoes I'd be happy to be a bloody adult and not have to listen to anything you say." Or something like that. I felt it made sense enough and scowled for good measure.

He did not allow me to hide in my room. My option was to walk out and be good company or be carried out and be good company.

I walked out. I still had some modicum of self-respect left… well, internally I was kicking and screaming, I just did not want Charlotte to know.

"Go play with your cousin," Dad said and pointed to the meadow. "There where we can see you."

I had no problem playing. I had been playing these last three years, I was a playing expert. I've played with the best of them… I stomped off after Charlotte, the last person on earth I wanted to play with.

"What do you want to play, little Albus?"

"I don't know. Whatever. Don't call me little."

"Maman says I should let you decide," the little blonde-haired, blue-eyed angel said. "I am to be good and not bully you. It's a shame, I was saving up for a doll, do you know some dolls can talk? It would be like having a little sister! But they are expensive so I will have to wait."

I already felt sorry for the doll even if it turned out to be Chucky's clone. "Are you hinting that you need money? I didn't bring any so you'll have to take an IOU."

"No, Albus," she said, her hands clasped together and her smile angelic. "I promised I would be good."

I calculated. Our parents were out of earshot where they had put up chairs and tables next to the tent, out of earshot but not too far to keep an eye. Charlotte had a way of setting up a scene that she would end up looking good while I got into trouble, but nothing could go wrong if I chose the games, right? "...fine."

I had already discarded the idea of feeding her to the wolves, don't ask me where I would have found them, _I would've put an ad_ , and in keeping with the fairy tale theme she negated the suggestion to play Hansel and Gretel, so I couldn't lose her in the forest.

"I don't want to be eaten by a witch, I want to BE the witch," little Red Riding Hood said in her usual bossy way. "What if—"

"I thought I was supposed to choose the game!"

* * *

Dad fished Charlotte out of the icy stream. Nothing would have happened to her, she had barely got a dunking. I mean, her head might have been underwater for maybe a second, but not more.

"What are you playing at?" he asked, pinning me down with his Bat eyes. Why me?!

I was still figuring out how it happened that I ended up looking like a mini murderer when Charlotte stepped up. The ribbon we had tied around her wrists on her insistence that we make it look 'really real' had fallen off in her dunking, for which I was very thankful. "It's just a game, uncle Severus!" she said with a bright smile, teeth chattering. "I let Albus choose, don't worry, we're having lots of fun!"

She smiled, I scowled, and Bat Dad glared. He dried her after looking around for Muggles and told us to play safer, giving me a sharp look of warning. Had I just been played by an eight-year-old again?

"I did not sink!" Charlotte hissed once he was out of earshot. "We need to try again!"

Oh, hell no. "You did!"

"I did not!"

"Whatever, we're done playing!"

"No! Okay, maybe I sank just a little bit but your dad interfered so it doesn't count, please, Albus!"

It's not as if I had a choice, was it? If I said no she would go complain that I wasn't trying and Bat Dad will lecture. "Fine." Fine. This time I'll pay better attention, I was bloody over a century old, there's no way she'd get the better of me twice.

"What's next then?" she asked.

Next was Uncle Alain having drawn the short straw. They had let us do our thing without interference, not said anything while we gathered sticks and twigs from the edges of the forest and built the makings of a bonfire to end all bonfires in the middle of the small clearing. But as soon as Charlotte climbed the wooden tower and I started tying her up he was next to us. Even faster than dad had been at picking her out of the stream. He stopped beside me and examined our handiwork.

"Interesting game here, you two," Uncle Alain said and held out his hand for the wand Charlotte had nicked for us from her mum, my own forgotten back home. I passed it over with some relief. This had gone much farther than pretending to burn the witch at the stake. _Tie me up, Albus! Here's Maman's wand, Albus, just shake it to make some sparks!_ It was official, I was an idiot.

What was worse, drowning your cousin, burning her, or thinking of feeding her to wolves? I honestly did not want to hear the man's thoughts on this and didn't know what to say but Charlotte had no such problems.

"Go away, Papa, we're checking if I am a witch!"

"I can assure you, you are."

"But how do you know? I haven't had any accidental magic yet and Albus has made eleven people's hair green, gave his babysitter tentacles AND he apparated to a zoo! I could be a Squib!" she shouted theatrically and burst into tears.

That was the end of the games. He untied Charlotte, picked her off the precarious tower, and took her to her mum but she was inconsolable and soon after they left for their own camp.

Which left me all alone with Dad. I decided I'd stay out in the meadow and sleep right there so of course he came to me.

"It wasn't my fault! She wasn't crying because of me!"

"I heard. I am still not impressed with your choice of games, are you?"

"They may have been my choice but the direction it took was completely on her." Ah, I had just confessed to having an eight-year-old dictate my actions, haven't I? I kicked at the grass. "It's not as if I was going to light a fire to the damn thing."

We had a stare-off.

"You try playing with her," I told him. "See if it goes any better."

"I do not think I would let an eight-year-old put one over me," Dad scoffed. "Or a six-year-old—"

"Seven in a month."

"Enough, Albus. You may carry the wood to the firepit and stack them next to the rest."

It had taken us over two hours to build a heap big enough to burn a witch and there were two of us! I was tired, sweaty, and fed up. This was punishment, I knew it. I only barely refrained from stamping a foot. "Can't you just do a Leviosa?"

"Need I remind you that we are in a Muggle camp? Do as I say, Albus."

He didn't look as if he would have any sympathy had I taken Charlotte's example and flooded the meadow with my tears also.

I carried the firewood over to the pit.

It took less time than I feared but it was still a slog, twigs scattering everywhere when I carried too big an armful, pinching my fingers and sticking and scratching my arms if I did not take care. Through it all Bat Dad sat in the shade with a book, not raising a finger to help.

"Shall we go for a walk?" he said, closing his book with a snap when I stacked the last twig.

The rest of the afternoon went mildly better. We packed a picnic and chose a trail that passed by a lake, had our lunch there, and made plans to come back to fish at some point.

Evening it took a turn for the worse again. We spent it at Charlotte's camp where they had prepared a barbeque dinner.

"Whyy?" I moaned when he told me the plan and immediately realised my mistake when we reached their camp to be met with a smiling Charlotte looking 'ecstatic' to see us. Dad gave me a warning to 'Behave' and passed me over into her clutches. It was a disaster from the start, right up to the moment that I speared her leg with my fork.

* * *

For once I didn't mind being sent to bed early. Dad was beyond angry when I refused to explain, according to him there was no excuse; they all saw me stick a fork into her leg, and frankly I did not know what to say in my defense. She had asked me to do it. Should I have done it because she had asked? Probably not. Well, maybe more than probably. I ended up not saying anything.

"You'll apologise in the morning," Dad said, tucking me into bed. "I don't know what came over you."

"I'll write her a letter—"

"In person. Do you want to tell me what that was about?" he asked again.

"No," I repeated also.

"Sleep then," he ordered and made to leave.

"Is Charlotte a Squib?"

He stopped in the doorway and turned but did not re-enter my room. "No, she is not."

"How do you know?"

"They had her tested."

"She thinks she's a Squib. Is that why she's always targeting me?" Was she jealous because I was a wizard?

"No, it's more complicated than that, Albus. I will not discuss her issues with you, it is enough for you to know she is trying to be better and I expect you to do your part."

My part. I pulled a face.

"Which means no violence and no trying to murder your cousin," Dad said with a barely suppressed sigh. "This was a very frustrating day."

I said nothing. How was it frustrating for him? He wasn't the one that suffered from her. She had not only managed to turn the tables on me but had made my vacation all about her.

"Sleep, Albus, tomorrow will be better."

I think not. "You try dealing with her and then tell me that again."

"If I could I would."

Inspiration struck. "You could if you drank a Polyjuice potion!"

"Enough. Goodnight, Albus." He shut off the light and closed the door.

I thumped my pillow, suddenly feeling wide awake. My bedroom ceiling was enchanted to appear like the night sky outside but the stars held no interest in my present mood. Such a thing was wasted on someone needing glasses anyway and just looked like blurry little blobs of light… one of the blobs moved in an arc across the ceiling and I made a wish.


	3. Chocolate required

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a long time in coming, thanks for your patience. It will also probably be the end of Albus, I think it’s time. Enjoy!

When I woke it was not to the sun but to Charlotte’s hand clamped over my mouth in the dark, and her evil face millimetres from mine.

“Hmpfgh!” Excuse me if I thought she had come to kill me. Here was the time I should say my life flashed before my eyes and that I regretted going to sleep angry. It did not, and I didn’t. My only regret was that I would never know if my wish on the shooting star would have come through. It would have served Dad right if he had woken up in my body and was made to suffer Charlotte. Even if just for one day. Hell, even if just ten minutes. I tried to bite her hand.

“Don’t shout, little Albus,” she hissed. “I need your help.”

“Hmpfgh!”

She clamped my mouth harder. “Please, Albus! There’s a spell you do under the full moon, it will show you if you are a witch. I gathered all the ingredients but I need someone to chant with me.”

_Bloody hell._

“I’ll let you speak if you promise you won’t shout,” she whispered again like a true villain. They must have a script somewhere. “Nod if you won’t.”

I nodded. What was I to do? Her fingers were hurting me and I felt suffocated by now. She let go and I took a deep breath. “I’m not doing it.”

“But—”

“Ask your mum or dad to help you. What is this spell anyway? Where did you get it?” Someone had to read it to her, didn’t they? Let that person help her then, why me?

In true Charlotte fashion, she did not answer any of my questions. “Please, Albus. If you do it I’ll owe you a favour. It needs to be midnight by a body of still water, so we have to go all the way to the lake, and I’m scared to do it alone.”

That would be like getting the devil to owe you a favour and I doubted that was ever a good idea. I’ve decided it’s because she was French, there was no other reason for her craziness, she did have that one aunt that walked with a colander on her head so most likely it ran in the family.

“Charlotte, this is nuts, the healers said you were a witch why don’t you just wait and—”

“They said it’s a fifty percent chance, that’s as good as tossing a coin, I need to know for sure!” The moonlight lit my room well enough through the spelled ceiling that I was able to see the tears glistening in her eyes, and her hands clasped in supplication against her chest. Oh hell. I’m going to get into so much trouble for this.

“Fine. I’ll go with you but this will be the last—”

“Oh thank you-thank you! You need to get your dad’s wand also, be quick, little Albus!”

Oh my god, Bat Dad’s wand? Did she really want me to die tonight? “ _Don’t call me little._ ”

She was dressed in pajamas and a bunny covered dressing gown, but wanted me to come as I was. I made her wait until I got my own gown from behind the door, took my time to dress, and made her carry my gumboots out while I snuck into Dad’s room.

He was sleeping the sleep of the dead. I kept a worried eye on him while I tiptoed around his bed but he never roused, not even when I stubbed my toe on the corner of his bedside cabinet and swore under my breath. This made me inexplicably angry and I would have picked his wand up with more of a clatter had Charlotte not been standing in the doorway, watching, boots tucked under her armpits, hands over her mouth.

All was quiet outside. The moon was enough to light our way, and Charlotte waited impatiently for me to pull on my boots, tapping her foot like an irritated mum. She was wearing bunny-shaped slippers that were cute enough but probably not good for a hike, and I suggested she go to her own tent to change—perhaps I would be lucky and her parents would wake up—but she was having none of it.

This was going to be a disaster. I knew it. If I was in any way sensible I would go wake Dad and he could either put a stop to this idiotic plan of hers or get her parents to help her. I’m sure had I wanted to do a spell under the full moon he would definitely be game to join me if I asked nicely, and her parents did everything she wanted anyway, so—

Charlotte grabbed my hand and pulled me after her. “Come on!”

We crept through a hushed world, the only sound our own feet scuffing against loose stones. We passed several dark campsites, Muggle tents surrounded with a hodgepodge of camping equipment, and it was as if the world conspired with her against me, for nowhere a soul stirred. Not one adult awake. I gave up and decided to just enjoy the adventure; sneaking around in the dark when everyone was sleeping held its own excitement.

“How do you know about the spell?” I asked when we had left the camps behind. Last I checked, books were still spelled against underaged wizards and witches.

“I found it in a Wiccan’s grimoire.”

“You know that’s just Muggles pretending to have magic, right?” Percy said so.

“No, it’s not. Maman has lots of their books, she says some of them are squibs, they just don’t know it. She studies them so she knows all about it.” Charlotte had yet to let go of my hand and pulled me harshly to keep up. “They do this spell to see if they have magic, for new Wiccans.”

“I would think if it really worked the healers would have done it on you. Funny that the Wiccans would know more than them. I don’t think—”

“Shut up, Albus! You don’t know anything!”

Another thought struck me. If it did work wouldn’t it just show she had enough magic to be a squib? Should I tell her? I let her tug me into the trees and we stumbled over protruding roots down a narrow path. The moon was of little help here and we had to slow down and pay attention or fall. I decided to tell her only if it failed. Where would be the harm to let her think what she wanted? If it worked and she was satisfied she might leave me alone. A rustle in the undergrowth made me grip her hand tighter. There’s nothing out here, just us. No one will camp here with kids if there was danger...

Every branch we passed seemed to tug at our clothes. Bugs tried to climb down our collars and flitted about our faces, causing Charlotte to squeak and sputter. Any other time I would have enjoyed her distress, now though, I just wanted her to keep quiet so that things that went bump in the night wouldn’t find us. Bigger things than those that rustled at our feet, scurrying away. Moonlight was no help here, instead it played with the shadows, making everything appear distorted.

I never so much realised my current age as just then, trampling in the dark with a kid not much older than myself, no one aware of where we were. We trembled and held on to each other’s hands, pretending we would have done the same were it the brightest day. In my free hand I gripped Dad’s wand, it was useless for me unless I wanted to tie someone’s shoelaces but I found comfort in it anyway.

It felt like an age before we came to the lake. Noise alerted us to them before we reached the end of the path and we hid in the bushes to watch a group of rowdy teenagers splash in the water. They had music and a bonfire going, some sitting around it drinking beer, and the smoke smelled strange. With a potion master parent, I was an expert in strange smelling fires and it was not hard to guess what they were doing. Still, it was a relief to see other kids and for the first time since we entered the forest I felt able to breathe.

“They’re not wearing any clothes,” Charlotte whispered, bug-eyed, pointing at the swimmers.

“Skinny dipping. Let’s go home, we can do this another time.”

“No!” Her nails dug into my palm. “We’ll go around them to the edge!”

And of course that’s what we did.

Charlotte found a clearing far enough from them, though we were still able to hear their music and distant snatches of conversation. She finally let go of me to scratch a circle into the ground. She removed four candles from her pocket, and I helped her put it around the circle, digging holes so they won’t fall over. It appeared Dad’s wand was necessary only to light the candles, which I wish she had told me before or I could have brought some matches instead. It took me a very long time to make enough sparks to light the first one, long enough to wonder if we couldn’t just sneak past the stoned teenagers to light them in their fire. Meanwhile Charlotte had pulled a cereal bowl out of her pocket and filled it from the lake. She set it in the middle of the circle and dropped something shiny in it.

“What’s that?”

“A galleon. The moonlight must shine on it and then I can harness the power of the moon to bring forth my magic. Stay outside the circle so that it’s not yours.”

Never mind my magic, it was probably one of my galleons. She had yet to pay it all back. I sniffed. “I do not plan to get into any circles, thank you.”

“Good.”

You would think someone that’s begging for favours would be nicer, then it just meant you did not know my cousin at all. “How will it tell you that you have magic?”

“I will glow.” She sprinkled something in the water.

Memories of a tentacled Percy assaulted me. “What’s that?”

“Secret.”

“Fine.” I didn’t want to know anyway. “Just don’t think I am going to drink that with you.”

“I’m not drinking it, you baby.” She said something in French that sounded suspiciously like swearing. “I’m going to meditate on it!”

And this was when I learned my part was to walk around the circle, hailing Hekate, Goddess of the Moon, Night wandering Underworld Queen, to attend her ritual. That was also the moment I started wondering if this was not all some elaborate ruse to mess with me. “No way am I going to say that! Why do you just get to stare at water!”

“I don’t just stare! I have to concentrate and manifest the power within!”

I tried to convince her to let me chant, Hail Merlin, Father of whatever, at least we knew he had actually existed but it was no go. According to my dear cousin, it had to be exactly like the Wiccans did it or it would not work.

Chanting was utterly ridiculous at first. Charlotte wanted it loud, and I kept wondering if the teenagers would hear us and come investigate. Then it became scary. I realised that I couldn’t make out any noises other than my own and couldn’t remember what was the biggest animal out there. Around us, shadows moved unnaturally in the candlelight which flickered when I passed, and I probably ruined Charlotte’s wish with my own, more desperate one, that had me in bed and sleeping.

I don’t know how long I chanted, but my throat was dry and I was seriously contemplating drinking her magic water, when I slowly became aware of the unnatural silence around us. For a stupid moment I actually thought it was the Wiccan magic at work and looked to see if Charlotte was glowing.

The low, guttural growl came as no surprise. In fact, it was a relief to finally find the scary thing, if only for a moment. _This was what happened to kids alone in the forest_. Still, everything in me froze except the hair on the back of my neck which stood to military attention.

If Dad knew I immediately thought werewolf he would complain about my overactive imagination and never read me anything from the Monster Book of Monsters again. It was just a dog. It had to be. It couldn’t be anything else. Not even my luck was that bad.

Charlotte was still busy concentrating and had not yet realised my chanting had stopped.

Carefully I stepped into the circle, and slowly, ever so slowly, turned around. Oh, God. A silver shimmer flitted in my peripheral vision but I couldn’t tear my eyes from what crouched between the trees. “Charlotte…” I whispered.

“Albus, what—!”

“Werewolves...”

Because my luck was so bad. Two pairs of red, deranged eyes stared at us from within the shadows of the trees and the next guttural growl had Charlotte up and clutching my dressing gown from behind. “Nice doggy…” she whispered, tremulous. “Albus—”

“Don’t move, maybe they won’t do anything…”

For a breathless moment we watched the werewolves and they us. Hope flared in me.

It was not to be.

A howl sounded from the direction of the lake, breaking the spell, and with spine chilling snarls the two beasts rushed at us. In the distance the teenagers started screaming. Joining them, we stumbled back and I tried to shake her grip loose, and pointed Dad’s wand at the beasts, no idea what I was trying to achieve. They were huge, bearlike creatures, exactly like their pictures in the book but I was not prepared for the sheer size of them. “Run, Charlotte!”

There was no time to do anything.

Charlotte’s screams mingled with their snarls and I could only watch as they ran towards us. This was it. I felt their hot breath wash over my face and steeled myself for the worst, when suddenly there came two loud cracks and a shield appeared between us and the beasts. The closest werewolf ran into a blue light and Charlotte and I fell back, tripping over each other. The next moment her mum was between us and the wolves, long, scaly wings bursting from her shoulders and she _shrieked an ear splitting noise that momentarily froze the beasts_. Arms grabbed me from behind, and it’s safe to say I joined in the noise.

It was Dad. Charlotte’s dad had her, I saw, and I clutched at Dad but he passed me effortlessly over to uncle Alain, stopping only to tug his wand out of my death grip. The last I saw of him before uncle Alain disapparated the three of us, Dad had taken to the air, casting Fiendfyre at the wolf that lunged for his bare feet, its long jaws snapping viciously.

* * *

We appeared in their sitting room and I would have rushed right back to the lake had uncle Alain not grabbed me. He said something in rapid French to Charlotte and she burst into tears. As usual, that was enough to soften her dad’s heart and he pulled her into a consoling hug, and to my horror I found myself pulled along also.

I struggled against his chest. “I want to go to my dad!”

“He’ll be here in a minute,” uncle Alain said.

“You don’t understand there are these Muggle kids—” I’m going to be honest here and say the Muggle kids were secondary and just an excuse to go save Dad. Why I thought I would be able to save him was a mystery I couldn’t explain. Not to myself, nor uncle Alain when he asked. None of his promises that everything would be alright made any impact and I kept it up until aunt Louisette finally apparated into the room after what felt like eons had passed. She didn’t look like anyone that could sprout wings anymore but she did look like she had been in a very bad fight; her hair was a wild cloud around her head, her pajamas ripped and dirty, and she smelled inexplicably of smoke.

“Severus is obliviating the Muggle kids,” she told her husband, catching Charlotte up into her arms when she ran for her. “They’re unharmed. Seems they fended them off with torches from their bonfire.”

Then she turned to Charlotte and a second time my cousin burst into tears. It was less effective on her mother, though, and for once I was thankful that they did not speak English as it sounded like an epic scolding. I was in for the same, I finally realised, when Dad apparated into the room and I spied his white, furious face. I was passed to him like a little package and he apparated us out without a word.

* * *

“Did they bite you?” Dad asked the moment we appeared in our sitting room, even before he set me on my feet. Two apparitions in such a short time made the world swirl nauseatingly around me and I could only shake my head mutely for fear I would barf. Not that he was waiting for an answer, he was already stripping me and examining every inch of bare skin. “You could have been killed! Of all the senseless, idiotic things you’ve done…”

Of course, it was my fault. Wasn’t it always where Charlotte was involved? I closed my ears and let him do what he wanted. Which was to dress me in clean pajamas, wrap me into blankets, set me on the couch, and force a foul-tasting potion down my throat. Only then did I realise I was shivering and that my teeth ached from being clamped together. I couldn’t look away from his bare, mud-encrusted feet, and wondered the same. Did they bite him? Why wasn’t he wearing shoes?

“They did not. And when you wake up to an alarm to find your child has taken your wand and was in mortal peril you don’t think of shoes.”

I looked at him in confusion. Was he reading my mind? He always said he couldn’t get past Old Albus’s shields, had that changed?

The next thing he forced down my throat was a cup of hot chocolate. Well, he only had to force the first sip, the rest I drank willingly, and soon found myself melting into the couch. At some point, he had changed his clothes and his feet were now dressed in two colourful socks that I remember giving him last Christmas as a gag gift. It unaccountably made me feel better to not see his skin.

He sat down next to me and took the empty cup away, floating it back to the kitchen. I couldn’t figure out from his face how angry he was. Probably a lot. I shivered and hunkered into the blanket. If Charlotte was up to her usual tricks she would be putting the blame on me by now and make them think it was all my idea like usual.

Reading my mind, Angry Bat said in his most calm, a potion had exploded and he was trying not to kill the Gryffindor, voice: “I sometimes forget how much of a child you are now. I am not reading your mind, Albus. You are in shock. It matters not one whit whose idea it was, you have enough sense not to steal my wand and go off in the middle of the night to do who knows what. And yes, it is safe to say I am beyond furious at this moment. Explain to me what went on in your head.”

“I didn’t steal it, I borrowed it, I was going to give it back!”

“Borrow is something that happens with permission. You are well aware of that. I’m waiting, Albus. Start at the beginning.”

The beginning? The games. That felt like another lifetime.

“Charlotte…” No. He was right. It doesn’t matter that it was her ideas, I went along with every last one of them, I could have stopped her at any time if I wanted; Severus was right there to call if I felt coerced. Oh my god. I was just as much to blame and he could have been killed tonight. “I want to go home.”

“Albus…”

“No! I don’t want to be here anymore, it’s awful! I hate it! I want to go home!”

“We are not going home—”

“You can stay!” I threw the blanket off me. I was done. I jumped off the couch but he caught me and put me right back on it.

“Sit, Albus. You are not going to run off, we are going to talk about this issue and move past it,” he scolded, and for some reason it made me think of aunt Louisette who had at least hugged Charlotte before she had scolded her.

“I’m already past it and I want to go home. Why are you not married—if I had a mum she would let me go home and she would never have let this happen! She would never have let them bring Charlotte on our camping trip, she wouldn’t force me to make friends with my bully and you wouldn’t have nearly died—I want a mum!”

The Bat’s face did something strange. I didn’t care. If he wanted to say I was a child I was going to be a proper one! I refused to talk anymore. This time the Bat did not stop me when I jumped off and ran for my room. He only followed and tried to talk to me, but I pulled my covers over my head and pretended to sleep.

* * *

Morning came, and with it, Poppy. She entered my room with a smart knock, came to sit on the side of the bed, and touched my forehead. “Your dad called me.”

“I’m not sick,” I told her.

“Force of habit, dear. Do you want to tell me what all this is about?”

“What did he say?”

“If by he you mean your dad, he told me you were going through a rough time and needed a mum’s ear. Will mine do?”

Of course I cried. I didn’t know if it was Poppy’s long, grandmotherly hug, or the fact that Snape thought to bring her, in the end, it didn’t matter what caused it, but I cried until I could not anymore. And then I spilled all. Starting with my disappointment about the tent, to Charlotte’s worries about her magic. _They can’t sink in water, they can't burn, and they don’t bleed if pricked with metal…_ I told her all about the fact that I stupidly thought it was a game to start with, and how I always ended up doing exactly what she wanted, no matter how horrid her ideas. I told her all about the Wiccan ritual and how I nearly killed dad.

Poppy listened to it all, then soothed me with a chocolate bar, and told me to leave it to her.

* * *

I barely lasted ten minutes before curiosity made me get up and go listen with my ear to my bedroom door. The twins had not yet invented their extendable ears, which would have been a great help for Dad’s voice was too low, but I managed to hear Poppy well enough.

“Even if the child is trying, it is obvious from Albus’s story that she's unable to get out of her past habits yet. Why do we need to force him to deal with that? He’s been bullied for three years by her, which you knew of, and you expect him to be over it in a day? Which is a shame also, Severus, I thought with your past history you would have wanted to protect him better against exactly such things and not leave him to sort it on his own—

Dad said something. Okay, now I felt I shouldn’t be listening. I pressed my ear harder against the door.

—Would you have been able to forgive James and his cronies if someone had thrown you together and said kiss and make up? Would James have turned into an angel just like that? You were not innocent either, you did your own version of stabbing them with a fork. It doesn’t work like that, Severus, and you know it. It also doesn’t help that you chose this vacation he'd been looking forward to to do it in either, you caught him wrongfooted from the start.”

Dad said something.

“Can you blame him? From what Albus described she is the daughter of a Veela, have you thought of that?”

Dad replied but I stopped trying to listen. Veela. I had thought aunt Louisette was an animagus…I truly was an idiot.

When I pressed my ear to the door again I heard Poppy say: “I’d like to talk to your cousin and his wife. Now, will you call them or will I go over there?”

The Bat went to call them, and Poppy came to give me another chocolate and to suggest I stopped listening at the door. “Do I need to cast a privacy spell?” she asked. I told her unashamedly yes. There was no way I was going to be able to stop myself from listening in to Poppy ripping into them. Because if the glint in her eye and the way she lit into Bat Dad was to go on then there was only one outcome to their upcoming meeting.

She cast the privacy charm and left me to it. I tried to listen anyway but it was a bust.

* * *

The end result was Charlotte apologising to me.

Then her mother and father did the same.

Then I apologised back for the fork. I wasn’t truly sorry but even Poppy had said I had to.

All future playdates were to be supervised by either Charlotte’s mum or Poppy but there wasn’t going to be any of that soon, thank God. They also cut their camping trip short, apparently they would visit Charlotte’s grandparents on her mother’s side instead.

When they left, Dad apologised to me also and I then, unprompted, apologised back for nearly getting him killed. Or worse, turned into a werewolf.

It was the other way around, Poppy said, we should always count ourselves lucky to be alive, and werewolves were only a bother once a month.

I could see from Dad’s face that he disagreed but he said nothing so I did the same.

I was grounded for a month though, for stealing, and for being irresponsible. Which meant early bedtimes and getting a nanny again during the day but that was to start after the camping trip. The revised camping trip, I should say, for Dad was going to try it my way.

“Tell me again how it should be?” he asked once Poppy had left. We stood outside our tent-house, pondering it.

“Camping,” I said patiently, “is supposed to bring us together through adversity. Make us bond as a family.” It sounded better in my head than out loud and I wondered if we didn’t have enough adversity yesterday.

“So, not fun, then,” Dad said as dry as dust. I glared at him. Was he trying not to laugh or cry?

“We need to struggle, Dad. We need to feel nature in our bones.”

“I can always make your part of the tent Muggle, Albus. My bones have been through enough.”

“That’s not together, Dad.”

“Wizarding camping is about having fun, hiking, exploring nature, fishing, maybe we’ll find some rare potion ingredients, all in the comfort of our own home from home… ” he petered off, watching my face. “Adversity, you said.”

“Yes.”

“Well, say no more.”

He waved his wand at the tent. A red light enveloped it, and when it disappeared I peeked into the flap to see a small muggle tent with two air-mattresses, our backpacks at the feet. No hatstand. Magic was amazing.

* * *

Camping activity #1: Fishing for your dinner.

The stream was ice cold. My teeth rattled all the way into my brain even after the shower, and Bat Dad rubbed a towel vigorously over my hair.

“I told you not to fall in,” he said.

“I only fell in because you said not to. You jinxed me.” I submitted to him rubbing the circulation back into my arms.

“Nonsense.”

If he had asked at that moment to return the house I probably would have said yes. The Muggle shower had been luke-warm, the water a trickle. It was creepy changing into dry clothes in the camp’s shower block, anyone could walk in at any moment. Dad assured me there was no-one outside but I dressed under the towel anyway. And we hadn’t even caught any fish.

Camping activity #2: Nature walk.

We went for a bracing walk to get warm, Dad insisted. My trials were not over yet, not half an hour later I stood gritting my teeth while Dad scraped a bee’s stinger out of my arm.

“It’s your fault,” I told him, trying not to sniffle, sure of it.

“How so?”

“You’re doing something to make me ask for the tent-house.”

“I assure you, I am not.”

“Why didn’t you get stung then?”

“I think they are smart enough to sting the boy who poked them with a stick.”

I didn’t do it on purpose. Walking sticks were for poking into bushes, scaring away snakes, seeing what interesting stuff hid in dead logs. Shouldn’t beehives be up in a tree?

Removing the second stinger, Dad explained how if a stick poked their hive they would usually follow it to the other end to find the culprit. It was my bad luck to still be holding it and not something he would wish on his kid. He had ointment in the tent but it felt like cheating, and I said so. This earned me a long, contemplative look, but he didn’t insist we return for it.

“Let me know when you’ve had your fill of adversity.” Was all he said.

Camping activity #3: Cooking over a fire.

“Dad.” I watched him grill our spam on the fire. He had used matches, making a big to-do about lighting the fire the ‘Muggle’ way, even though we had matches enough at home. Our firewood stack was high enough for a month, thanks to our game, but he made me run for dried leaves until I was nearly as hot as the flames when they finally started. Now he was holding the pan over the fire, cursing under his breath about singed fingers. Should I tell him just to use a Leviosa and forget it? He was burning the spam… We lost the fridge with the tent and we had bought spam and noodles from the campground’s little store. I was not much impressed with a store that did not sell marshmallows, by the way.

I opened my mouth.

“Yes?" He raised his eyebrows. "Do you want me to return our kitchen?”

“No.” And just in case he tried to read my mind I thought ‘ **no** ’ at him as hard as I could, and said the first thing that popped into my mind. “Are there any bears here?”

“Your education is sorely lacking.”

Oh, God, no.

He smiled. “We’ll be sure to correct that when we get home.”

I knew it! I groaned and flopped back on the ground.

Things that were not fun without magic:

#1. Ants.  
#2. Rain.

“You should have checked the weather,” I moaned as another gust blew rain into my face. Our tent had folded in on the first strong gust and Dad was trying to right it without using his wand. Our bags were in the flattened tent, and everything was probably soaked by now, but we wouldn’t know, for each time Dad raised a side the wind blew it right back down. I swear to God had he wanted to use his wand I would have looked the other way.

“They predicted a sunny week,” he said.

“ _Who? Sybill?_ ”

“Enough, Albus.” The wind tore the tent out of his hands, only to slap it back into his face, and he swore viciously when the rain chose that moment to intensify. Still swearing, he burrowed into the flattened mess and came out with a blanket. “We’ll go wait out the worst in the shower block before I try again,” Dad said, wrapping me into the blanket until just my face showed, and picking me up. “Unless you are ready to do it the wizarding way?”

I was not.

We were the only people in the shower block and we sat side by side on a bench, listening to what sounded like a monsoon outside. We were wet and miserable, and his wand was right there in his sleeve… I sniffled. My arm itched. “They didn’t even have marshmallows.”

Dad tucked me in under his arm. “Have we had enough adversity?”

“No.” My teeth chattered and visions of a hot bath filled with bubbles assailed me. Opposite us, a leaky showerhead dripped. “Yes?”

“Oh, thank God.” He stood up and picked me up. “I thought this would never end.”

This time he cast a charm to keep the rain off and we only battled the wind back to our ruined camp. A slash of his wand at our flattened, mangled tent, had it rise up despite the gale, and pop out. Another wand slash stuck it to the ground. A third slash had the flap spring open; inside, a fire crackled in the hearth and I caught a glimpse of the dark blue couch and our gleaming kitchen behind it. Dad carried me inside.

“We are wizards, Albus. We do magic. Always. Everywhere.” He carried me through to the bathroom and just to prove his point did a warm Aguamenti, filling the bath in an instant, and a soap suds spell to provide me with my favourite bubbles. “Just because we can do something easily or in comfort doesn’t make it worthless,” he said and stripped my t-shirt and shorts to dump me in the tub. “Is that understood?”

My teeth rattled. “Yes.” The water burned but it was a good heat.

“You will sit there and get warm while I shower, then we are going to make hot chocolate and sleep in a soft bed. Any objections?”

None. “Can I get marshmallows in mine?”

“If you want.”

“Yes, please.”

***

  
The end.

Thanks for reading!


End file.
